


It's always ourselves we find

by LauranicusPond



Series: Pretty, Petty Thieves [6]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Eating, Food, M/M, the ocean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7427941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauranicusPond/pseuds/LauranicusPond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Trott misses the place he's from.  - The Garbage Court take a trip to the seaside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's always ourselves we find

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the e.e. cummings poem 'maggie and milly and molly and may'.
> 
> Pre - Sips

Smith tugs his scarf higher up around his neck and hunkers down further into the shelter of the wooden break. He huffs a little, folding his arms and tucking his hands into his armpits to try to warm his fingers.   
  
"Trott!" Smith yells, "It's fucking freezing. How long do we have to stay?"  
  
Trott doesn't even look up, just flips his fingers up at Smith and climbs over the break on the other side of this section of beach, sliding a little on the loose stones. Smith watches him make his way to the next one and climb over that too, before he sits down and disappears out of sight.   
  
Smith tips his head back, looking up at the pale grey January sky. The British seaside in the summer is hardly tropical, but in the winter is maudlin at best, Smith thinks. Even the brightly painted rows of beach huts look washed out and sad, shut up as they are for the off season. Smith wonders how difficult it would be to break into one, if it'd be warmer. They'd slept in one with a little paraffin heater once, Trott and him, but that was a long time ago.   
  
The pebbles dig into his ass and he wriggles a little to try and get more comfortable, turning his head to watch Ross down by the water.   
  
Ross is wandering back and forth just out of reach of the waves, picking up rocks and heaving them out into the sea. Smith watches him try unsuccessfully to skip a flat stone, the rock only bouncing a couple of times before disappearing below the surface. Ross turns, catching Smith's eye and waving.   
  
"Show me again?" He asks, smiling hopefully.   
  
Smith sighs dramatically and gets to his feet, crunching down the banks of pebbles to the water's edge. Ross' tail drags lazily back and forth through the foam before he flicks it forward, splashing water at Smith with the flat point at the tip. Smith stands, water dripping down his face, frozen in shock for a second. Ross grins innocently at him.   
  
"You prick!" Smith bares his teeth in a grin and lunges at Ross, who takes off running up the beach, laughing.   
  
Trott looks over at the sound of Ross' laughter and smiles. Tugging his rolled jeans firmly up over his knees, Trott takes a few steps into the sea.   
  
His breath catches, the almost icy water lapping over his calves, the gentle waves just wetting his knees. Trott reaches down and trails his fingertips over the surface.   
  
"Hello." He murmurs, standing up again and looking out to the horizon.   
  
The ocean stretches out before him, as still and as grey as the endless sky above. He takes a slow, deep breath, tasting the salt in the air. Despite how long he’s been away, there’s still a part of him that thinks of the sea as home. He wriggles his feet into the stones, feeling tiny pebbles press up between his toes. Trott aches, for a moment, to pull on his skin, and swim. Swim just for the fun of it, for that weightless joy of floating halfway between the surface and the seabed down below.

Trott closes his eyes. The waves drag the stones back and forth on the edge of the water, rattling gently over each other. Not far along the sea front, the wind knocks the ropes of the little sailing boats dragged up onto the grass while they’re not in use. Trott loses track of the time, tracing shapes on the surface of the water with his fingertips, listening to the waves. It’s not until he realises his jeans are wet that he opens his eyes.

The tide has come in considerably, and Trott turns and wades carefully out of the water and up the short stretch of beach to his things. He digs through his bag for something to dry his feet on, eventually settling on just rubbing them halfheartly with his socks and then pulling his shoes on. Pushing his jeans back down before standing up and climbing back over the wooden break, Trott realises that Smith and Ross are suspiciously quiet. 

“That can’t be too comfortable.” Trott says, leaning on the next break over and looking down at Smith sprawled out on the stones with Ross on top of him. 

Ross breaks their kiss, looking up in surprise.

“I’m pretty comfy...” He grins, wriggling on top of Smith and making him gasp.

Smith just shrugs and smiles, lips kiss bruised, cheeks pink.

“I’m going to get us something to eat. Don’t get stones in awkward places.”

“Does Ross count?” Smith calls after him as Trott pushes up the bank of pebbles to the paved sea front.

 

* * *

 

When Trott gets back, Smith and Ross are sitting on the edge of the sea front, watching the waves. It’s just starting to drizzle, a fine mist blowing in from the sea.

“Hey.” He says, holding out a cardboard tray of polystyrene cups to Smith, who takes them carefully.

Trott sits down next to them, passing out paper parcels.

“I got you a battered sausage, Smith. Know how much you like a bit of meat in your mouth.” Trott grins.

“Thanks.” Smith laughs, elbows bumping with Ross as they unwrap the paper from their chips. He makes eye contact with Trott, making a show of sliding his mouth around the sausage and taking a bite. “Oh fuck, that’s hot!” He gasps around his mouthful, huffing out breaths of steaming air.

Trott cackles, and Ross laughs on Smith’s other side. The vinegary steam from his chips makes Ross’ mouth water. They settle into silence. Smith picks his way through his chips, sipping from his cup of sugary tea and occasionally offering bits of his sausage to Ross, who eats them from his fingertips. Trott takes bites from his fish, sighing softly. It’s so fresh he can almost taste the seawater on his lips. The batter around it just about makes up for the fact that it’s cooked at all, crispy and salty, just a touch greasy. Trott licks his fingers clean.

Eventually, when the last of the chips have been eaten, the three of them sit together until Smith complains that his cheeks have gone numb from the cold. They stand, joints stiff from sitting so long. Ross gathers up their paper and cups and goes to find a bin, and Trott pushes his hands into his coat pockets, looking out at the sea one last time.

Smith slides his arms through Trott’s, hugging him from behind.

“You’ve got me, and you’ve got Ross,” Smith murmurs, bending to nuzzle his cheek against Trott’s, “Don’t miss it.”

“I don’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> The beach in this is very much based on Whitstable, a bit of the british coast I've personally spent a lot of cold winter days walking along. Look it up on flickr if you like, there are some gorgeous photos.
> 
> I've recently moved house away from my family, and though I know the move is for the best, I'm a little homesick, and apparently my comfort place is hot chips and cold beaches.
> 
> As always, I'm over on tumblr at LauranicusPond, feel free to say hello!


End file.
